


Dry Lake

by MorganMacCallum



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/M, Growing Up Together, Jealous Michael, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Michael Myers Speaks, Michael genuinely believes the main character is an angel and that's a mess, Michael-centric, Possessive Behavior, Protective Michael, everyone is weirdest out by the main character but she's hardly normal, it's 1960s Christian America innit, the main character is the true cryptid, there's some christian symbolism in there because Michael doesn't know how to not be obsessed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganMacCallum/pseuds/MorganMacCallum
Summary: Barbara was the girl that had just moved in and, on her own, spoke very strangely with a smile that was very peculiar. On her own, she was just odd. Michael made her odder. Fixation that was unnatural for a child so young, and so disturbed. Far too many times he whispered of angels. Judith thought it was because of how pale Barbara was; she tended to glow in daylight.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Barbara is just a little strange, but Michael believes otherwise. Even when logic proves him wrong, he knows he is right.

He was already in a foul mood, slamming the door shut to keep everybody out of his room and drawing as aggressively and as gruesomely as he felt like because that was what he wanted, and it kept the nagging old lady in the corner of his eye quiet. Or, at least, it stopped her from yelling which he never liked; he hated loud voices and he was surrounded by them every day and he did not know how other people managed to ignore them. He had tried asking Judith once before, but she gave him a strange look and called him a freak, and his mother just looked worried again.

That was why he was in his room, because she kept looking at him like that and he hated it as much as he hated the annoying shouting people that never left him alone. Maybe they were ghosts, but ghosts were supposed to be friendly and they were not.

The old lady was quieter, but the crying woman was still there. Her and her friends, although they did not seem to be friends because they always said such terrible things and made her cry more which he hated so long as the mean words were not directed at him. It made it difficult for him to think, but he could only focus on keeping the old lady quiet. It was all he could do on her bad days, which were becoming more and more frequent. She liked to pick fun at him starting elementary school in September, and was determined to make him miserable, and she was winning.

He was so focused on keeping her quiet that he did not notice the silence at first. It was not until the red crayon snapped in his hand that he noticed there was no wailing, no whispers, and no growling. Just quiet. He did not recognise it, looking around to confirm whether any of them were still there.

The old lady was gone, and for a moment he was frightened. She liked to do this, to sneak up on him and scare him while he was doing something dangerous so he would hurt himself or someone else. He waited for a second longer, and another, and then there was a light knock on the door.

He heard the crying lady whimper, but no crying.

‘She’s here.’ One of them mumbled, sounding frightened.

I s she going to kill us?

Can she kill us? SHE CAN KILL US!?

I don’t want to die.

Don’t answer that door!

They were still far quieter than they had ever been, and Michael was not sure if it excited him or frightened him, but they were frightened of what was on the other side. He was not sure who was on the other side of the door, but they did not storm in like a raging bull, so he did not think it was a monster even though he was sure that only monsters could get rid of monsters.

He lingered, staring at the door.

“There are some cookies downstairs if you wish to have them.” She did not sound like a monster at all. Her voice was very soft, and even though she spoke like an adult she sounded like a child. He quickly concluded that she must be an angel that was here to protect him. It was with such vicious thoughts that he stumbled upwards and toddled towards the door determined to meet the angel.

The voices were starting to come back, and he knew that she was probably not on the other side of the door anymore, but he reached up to pull the door handle down and opened it anyway. She was no longer on the other side, but when he looked down the corridor, he could see a glimmer of her before she descended down the stairs.

He only saw that she wore a pink dress, she was very small, and that her hair glowed. She was definitely an angel, and he ran to catch up to her, to muffle the noises, tripping just before he reached the top of the stairs.

It stung, it stung, and tears started to prick his eyes. He could only see her through the blur, halfway down the stairs, watching him in bewilderment. She looked frightened, but only for a moment, before she immediately climbed back up.

“Are you hurt?” He rubbed angrily at his eyes, trying to will the tears away. He wanted to see the angel, not cry and be a baby. She checked him over for scratches like his mother used to. “Where does it hurt?”

He tapped his head. Where it had hurt for as long as he could remember. Surely, she knew, surely, she understood that there were monsters that were always biting at his head. Ghostly pale hands reached for his head and he could hear whimpers again as her hands ran through his curls feeling through his skull. Looking for something. The monsters?

“Well, I feel no bumps and it seems everything is where it ought to be. Your skull is perfectly round and perfectly there, so no problems with you, but better safe than sorry. Let us get off this trip hazard of a stair case.” She said more words than he had ever heard a girl say, and very clearly, but he had to remind himself that she was not a girl. She was not even human, and this showed when she glowed past the windows. It was not just her hair that glowed, even though it did, but her skin. She must have been hiding her wings to hide with people, and he just nodded.

His mother knew her first. Apparently, the angel called herself Barbara and she had moved right next door with her family. He did not believe for an instant that they were her family. He wondered if they were other angels, or if she just lived with them and because she was magical, they thought they were her parents. He did not ask her, of course, because she was in disguise and had not told him she was an angel, so she did not want him to know. He felt bad for knowing, but glad that she was there. So glad that he could not stop smiling and was practically hopping on his seat. It had never been so quiet, and he was ready to burst. His mother still looked worried and when Judith walked in, she looked frightened when he waved at her.

“In a good mood, Mickey?” Judith tested as she took one of the cookies. One of the angel’s cookies. He stared for a long time. The angel, Barbara, had given them to the whole family but he felt he needed to protect them for himself. They were sweet and did not taste of blood, and he felt glowing eating them. Judith must have seen the frown on his face because she began to retreat. He disliked that and forced it back on his face as the angel watched him.

“It’s not loud.” Judith’s frown increased, only for a moment, but then she nodded. He was nicer when it was ‘not loud’, although she did not know exactly what it meant. She did not hear what he heard but was glad for it.

“Good to hear it, let’s hope it stays that way.” Everyone struggled when Michael was having a bad day. Every utensil had to be locked away, he was kept away from his little sister, and Judith went out and did not return until he was better and only when her own door was locked as well as his. He hoped it would stay a good day, but he knew that if the angel left, they would be back. After all, they started to come back when she started to leave, and that frightened him. He had never experienced absolute quiet before; and now he did not want to lose it.

“Barb made it quiet!” He announced loudly, startling everyone. Michael did not shout unless he was angry, but he was not angry. He was excited, and was frightened, because she did not live in the house and they would be back when she left. “Can she stay?”

Barbara had a strange look on her face. She glanced between him, his mother, and Judith. He did not recognise the look, but her pale brows were furrowed, and she was not smiling. She was not frowning either, but he felt he had done something wrong.

“I have to go home to help with dinner.” She said in a very calm voice and Michael could feel tears pricking his eyes. He was ready to start screaming; screaming usually got him what he wanted, and he opened his mouth to do so. The angel watched him, and he could see that she did not want to do it, but that she was supposed to. She was an angel, after all, so she had to help lots of people. Screaming would not stop her, and instead he started to cry. She visibly flinched, her hands raised as though to push him away. He could hear Judith sigh and retreat.

His mother was never good at comforting him when he was upset, which was often, and her hug felt more like a prison. He wanted to lash out, to push something, but if he was bad then Barbara would run away. Of course he was scared, they were starting to giggle at him. Giggle and whisper and say that the angel hated him because he was a cry baby and mean, and that they killed mean people. He did not believe it, but he did.

“After I have finished dinner, would you like for me to come over again?” In the blur of his panic he nodded. She did not sigh, but he could feel the frustration Judith felt when he cried in her as she stepped forward and embraced him. It was not a prison cell and he could feel himself glowing again. Was she protecting him against the monsters? They had gone quiet again. He knew they only said mean things about the angel because they were trying to keep her away. So they could eat him. “Alright, I shall see you in two hours. Do you promise to be good until then?”

He nodded again. He had to be good or the angel would be angry, and then she might leave. As soon as she passed through their front door, the voices returned at full volume and they were furious. They were angry, and they were scared, and the old woman refused to leave him alone. He took the tin full of cookies, its glowing warmth made the voices dimmer, and stayed in his room with his hands wrapped tightly around it until his arms hurt. He was good, though. He did not yell. He did not do horrible things, he just sat on his bed and waited. At some point, Judith passed by his open bedroom door and watched him, but he did not notice. He was watching the tin, watching its quiet glow, waiting for the angel to come back.

Michael did not notice her until she was at the doorway, just out of his vision, and the voices did not notice either. Not until she was walking towards him, her footsteps almost non-existent. She was terrifyingly quiet, and when she tapped on his shoulders one of the monsters screamed before they were all rendered silent.

“Have you been here in the dark this whole time?” She asked with her head tilted, watching with faint confusion. “You know monsters prefer the dark, they can make anything happen.” He did not know that, and thought it made sense for they were closer when he was trying to sleep. “Well, come along. Your mother has been calling you down for dinner for a while now and you will just feel ill if you do not eat.”

She took him by the hand, and he followed. It was not as quiet as it was in the day, but he thought that maybe it was because it was dark and, like she said, monsters preferred the dark. She sat next to him at dinner because he refused to let go of her hand, and she was happy for her own plate. He had to let go of her hand to eat and felt the glow disappear as dinner went along.

Michael did not know what to say to her, she spoke so well and all he wanted to know was how she was glowing, how she kept the monsters away, and why she had only just arrived.

“Where did you live before you came here? You don’t sound American.”

“Ah, no, I am afraid I am not American. I am trying very hard to hide my accent as most people struggle with it, but I am actually from Scotland.” He never heard of Scotland before, but Judith let out a noise of surprise.

“That’s real far. Your family must be loaded.” She shook her head.

“No, we had to get some help to get here. Some family friends, but my father managed to get a job soon enough.”

“What does he do?” His mother enquired, and he could see Barbara shuffle in her seat.

“He is a doctor.” She stated, looking stiff. Doctors helped people like angels. Maybe it was his secret job while he was also an angel. Maybe the whole family was made of angels, and they all lived next door. The thought excited him, and his smile stretched wider.

“Oh, so he’ll be working at the hospital, then?”

“Yes, he will be working there starting tomorrow. My mother is hoping to get a job as a cook since she does not have enough money to reopen her café, but I am hopeful.” And she said it with a smile. It made her even brighter, and he could not stay still. His entire body tingled, and he was shaking by her side.

“So that is where you got your baking skills from.” His mother said in a sly tone, and Michael could see Barbara’s smile dampen somewhat but not entirely vanish. He felt it more than anything.

“Perhaps.”

It was the first time he was able to eat a full meal that did not taste rotten because the old lady was not there to make it rot. It was not as sweet as the angel’s cookies, but still very nice and he ate the whole thing without any struggle, blissfully unaware of his mother’s staring or Judith’s gawking until he said thank you. He saw them then.

Barbara put her fork on her plate and picked up his empty plate. Startled when she climbed off the chair, he followed her to the kitchen sink. Judith quickly followed after.

“I’ll take care of that, kiddo.” She said, taking the plates away from Barbara. Barbara stared for a moment at her bare hands, before putting them behind her back. Michael immediately took hold of one of her arms and made the connection again. Whether it actually helped, he did not know, but she did not feel like burning and that was enough for him. “You gonna stay the night or…?”

“I did bring my bag, yes.” A gentle nod, a polite smile, Judith was not sure how to feel about the girl. She was peculiar, certainly, but not in the way that Michael was peculiar. She was, frankly, much nicer. Stranger still, Michael was absolutely fixated on her. Even then, he was staring at her with enormous blue eyes that did not blink but watched her face with obsession. She felt bad for Barbara being stuck with her brother, but he had not misbehaved around her so far. Still, she did not feel at ease.

“Be nice to her, Mickey.” Judith warned, and his face darkened immediately. “And don’t stay up too late.”

“I will make sure he gets a good sleep.” Barbara confirmed as Michael pulled at her. Judith’s anxiety did not disappear, and she made sure to stay up a little later that night to make sure nothing happened to the strange new girl.

Michael still did not know how to talk to the angel. He had never said a word around her and now that they were in his room and the lights were on, he realised that he did not know what angels did for fun. Did angels have fun? He expected that they did, but he was not sure as she set her bag on his bed, opening it up. She had her pyjamas inside, a brush, a toothbrush, and a bear. He was immediately fixated on the bear, and she saw him staring.

“His name is Ragnar.”

“Ragnar?” He did not look raggy, and he watched her pull him out carefully, hugging him close.

“Yes, I named him after a Viking warrior who had six famous sons that led an enormous army in revenge.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but clamped her mouth shut. He did not know the words she said, but he knew ‘army’, and that meant a lot of fighting. Was she a fighting angel? “You can have him, if you wish.”

He hesitated. He was being given a gift by the angel. It must have been protection against the monsters. He certainly thought so because he could hear shushing in the background, someone saying that she was going to burn them.

Ragnar was soft, fluffy even, and it felt nice to rest his chin against the top of his head until his mother came in to help him change. Barbara had only told stories, and he was fine with that because she told amazing stories, although he was starting to get sleepy and he did not notice how late it was until his mother came in. She looked at him, anticipating a temper tantrum, but he did not because Barbara told him to behave and she was still in the room.

“I shall… get changed in the bathroom.” She said, awkwardly, as his mother took out his pyjamas.

“Do you need any help?” Barbara shook her head. Of course she did not need help, but it left him feeling sour as she took her own pyjamas. He knew that she only looked like a child, but it still made him feel small that he did not know how to do the buttons well enough on his own yet; but he said he would behave and simply stood there with his cheeks puffed out as his mother quickly went to work, anticipating a violent change in behaviour.

His nightmares did not go away so easily. He still dreamed of creaking abandoned corridors and white walls, and a dripping red knife in his hand. He still heard the screams of his sister, still saw fire, and still felt burning anger in him as though he were the monster. It scared him, of course it did, and he wanted to scream back. He did not want to go down the corridor, he did not want to see what was on the other side, but his legs moved without him and he was taller than he had ever been, and everything was too cold and too hot at the same time.

“It is just a dream, Michael.” Came a level voice, and a warm hand upon his back. It was not connected to anything, and he could see nothing there but the faint glow of a ball of light. It was shorter than him, incredibly small, and his dream self reached out to snap at it, to break the things neck because it was in the way, but it disappeared through his fingers and returned to itself higher up. “It is a bad dream, and it will go away if you want it to.”

“I want it to.” His voice was not his own, rougher and darker. The voice of the devil; the monsters that were inside him.

“Okay, so let us make it go away. Let us rebuild this world.” She said so calmly, and he listened closely. His dream self was anxious, fingers twitching in some form of anticipation, and trying to find her. Trying to find her in the dream to get rid of her. “What is your favourite colour?”

“Blue.” He answered, immediately.

“Imagine blue walls. They are completely smooth, with a pretty pattern. Think of sunflowers on the blue walls. Can you see them?” He did see them, the artificial white melting into the mellow, sombre colour that was his favourite, sunflowers blooming on the walls. Opening and closing, as though blinking awake.

“Yes.”

“There is a door to your left. Open it.” Softly, he turned his head and saw the door where it had not been there before. His dream self tightened his grip on the bloody knife as his other hand opened the door into the quiet space. He recognised it as his bedroom where he saw himself and Barbara.

He was asleep, but Barbara was awake and watching him.

“What do you see in the room?” He saw her ask as he stroked his head. He could feel it in the dream and saw himself press into it.

“Bedroom.”

“Yours?”

“Yes.” She did not look up to see him, but he was certain that she felt him there. He saw her turn her head before directing it back to him.

“There is a chair by the window. Do you want to sit by it?” He did not care for it, but he marched over to it anyway. It was closer to Barbara and his body, and he felt a pulling sensation there as he sat down, waiting for her to continue. “I want you to close your eyes. Close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”

He hesitated, but Barbara knew what she was doing. She knew how to beat monsters, even when he became one, and he shut his eyes and waited. He felt his hands twitching, he felt someone stroking his hair, and he could feel the pillow against his cheek.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at Barbara and he was awake.

“Did you have a bad dream?” She asked, as though she had not talked him through the entire dream. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Perhaps she did not want to say it out loud because she was not supposed to.

“I have that one a lot.” She nodded.

“The best thing about bad dreams is that you can wake from them, and once you realise you are in a dream you can make the dream do whatever you want. You can turn any nightmare into something you like once you figure it out.”

“How do you know it’s a bad dream?”

“Some people pinch themselves. I look for clocks. If I cannot read the time, I know I am dreaming.” He made sure to remember it. “Of course, saying ‘I am going to wake up now’ and making yourself wake up is the fastest way.” He nodded and curled tighter into himself. She wrapped her arms around him, and soon after he fell back asleep.

He did not dream at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara wanders the town in her first week, and earns her reputation.

Barbara had been in Haddonsville for a week before she met her neighbours, and in that short time had already gathered a reputation for being unusual. She dressed well enough, with polished shoes and nice dresses, but knitted gloves being a constant alongside a hat.

When she first left the house, she immediately walked to the other side of the town on her own and entered the café to buy a latte. The owner laughed, assuming that it was for one of her parents, but as she gave him her money, he saw her walk towards one of the window tables and sit down, alone, with a book called the Orkneyinga Saga. He stared dumbly for a moment but chose to simply keep an eye on her as he served customers.

An hour passed before she left, leaving a tip as she disappeared into another part of the city.

That was day one.

The next time she was spotted, she was on the outskirts of town walking along one of the farm paths with a full-length shovel swung over one of her shoulders. At that point the farmer, Robert, saw her crouched down over the edge of the path, not noticeable until he spotted the shovel and then the vibrant yellow dress that made her already pale skin glow even brighter.

“What’re you doing there, girlie?” Instead of answering him, a hand reached out and dug into the dirt, pulling out a clump of his farm soil. She proceeded to completely baffle him by putting it in her mouth, causing him to flinch. “H-hey, you aren’t supposed to do that!”

She spat it out and then went into her bag, pulling out a water bottle, and drinking, swishing the water around before spitting it back out again.

“You need less lead in your soil.” Was all she said before standing up and walking back towards the town. He was too baffled to follow after her but recalled his story in the pub the next day.

Another person in the pub recounted his own story of the girl who sang a nonsensical song as she went about painting the walls with what he thought was water when he first saw her.

“…the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes or how the Dong came to own a luminous nose or how the Jumblies went to sea in a sieve that they rowed and came to shore by the Chankly Bore where the Bong-trees grow…” It was something of that level of bizarre that he heard her half-sing half-mumble as she went about her task of painting patterns on the walls.

The next day moss was growing on the wall in the patterns she had painted, and he was left with a vague disturbance in mind and crossing himself the next time he went past that area. He would see her like clockwork spraying the moss, a smile on her face as it grew.

“How did you do that?” He dared to ask. “Make the moss grow on the wall?”

“There was moss in the water when I put it on, I just water it. Sometimes it does not stick.” She spoke very clearly, and the answer made sense and yet with her mature tone he could not help but feel uncomfortable still. “This town needs more plant life.” He nodded, agreeing and also having no desire to aggravate the strange girl.

With her declaration, he was not entirely surprised to see that she was collecting seeds. It was the following morning, and she was in pursuit of seeds in the local store, and yet she was frowning in her enormous floppy hat and garden gloves as she searched through the list of various seeds.

“What’re you looking for?” Someone asked before him, having no idea who she was or, in the man’s opinion, what she was.

“Do you have many wild flowers?” She enquired, the woman that asked blinking stupidly. The man pretended that he was not listening, just out of her visual range. “I am in pursuit of some tree seeds and some wild flower seeds. Some geranium, perhaps cornflower? Poppy?”

“O-oh, yes, we have some of those, but they’re not in stock right now.” The girl frowned.

“That is peculiar, I was certain this was the best time to get them.” The girl raised a finger to stroke her chin. “And of the trees?”

“We have some fruit trees?” The shop assistant was starting to become aware of the oddness of the girl, her smile turning nervous and she did not feel it appropriate to lean forward with her hands on her knees to be closer to her. Instead, she pulled back.

“Any apple?”

“Yes, of course! Follow me!” The shop assistant was excessive in her enthusiasm, perhaps to pull away at her anxiety, but the girl was not bothered.

Said assistant liked the girl despite her oddness and told the man so when he asked for more information on her. According to the assistant, the girl was wanting to plant more food for the wildlife and was worried about the lead in the soil. When she asked what the girl meant by this, she said that it was in the fertiliser and leeched into the farmland which would affect the food, and she then fell into an intense lecture about how lead caused damage to the brain which included terrible things such as increased violence and, in the girl’s opinion, she was in no mood to deal with murderers.

“If you are worried about lead in the fertiliser, won’t there be a problem with your food?”

“Oh yes, it is certainly something that concerns me. I am trying to look for compost with a list of ingredients to ensure there is no such thing, but for now I will plant sunflowers in my chosen areas until the levels go down.” The assistant merely nodded but started to think of sunflowers a great deal herself afterwards and ended up buying her own packet as the girl disappeared with a bag full of seeds afterwards.

By the fifth day he was fixated on the story of the abnormal girl and listened specifically for gossip on her. It was a problem, he knew, but it were not as though he were seeking her out in particular. Only her stories, as bizarre and unsettling as they were.

On day five she was quiet. Whatever she was up to, she had not been spotted and this concerned the man more than anything else. No one mentioned the strange pale girl, but by that point she was known. He found himself sitting on a bench in the park brooding as more normal children played on the equipment contemplating why he had become fixated. The answer was obvious: he was bored, and he liked to hear good stories. It was the same keen interest he would have had in a captivating book.

Someone sat next to him and, at first, he did not look as seeds were scattered across the path and birds flocked over. It was not until the seeds were thrown further a second time that he saw her sickeningly pale arm and saw the glow that came with it. He jolted, as though he had been shocked, and turned to look at her.

She was dressed in darker clothes and had been so bold as to wear a cloak with a decorative brooch. Like every other time she had been seen, she was wearing gloves and a hat.

“Birds cannot usually eat bread, although people keep feeding it to them. Pigeons, especially, cannot eat bread. They will eat whatever they please, though, so it is up to us to give them what they need.” He could not move, paralysed by her presence. He could see clearly that her hair was almost white, that it made her eyelashes white and her watery blue eyes seem even paler. He had no idea what she was.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” Was all he could say, feeling as though he had to answer in some way.

“Are you returning to the sanitorium this week?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head, never quite looking him in the eyes.

“Yes, I was going to return on Monday.” She nodded, quiet as she watched the birds hopping around her feet.

“There is a boy.” She started. “He is suffering from schizophrenia. I would be grateful for more information on how to help him with this condition without the usage of questionable medication or locking him up. Preferably before he turns six.”

It felt like a threat. He did not know why.

“I can hardly-,”

“I am only requesting books, Dr. Loomis. Nothing more.” She cut harshly into him but did not raise her voice. It still felt as though she did, and he clamped his mouth shut as though he had been scolded by a superior. A crawling sensation ran up his fingers as she looked up to him, the watery eyes viciously focused. He was aware of the fact that her eyes were not a simple pale blue; the centre had a pale grey tone to it. It were as though she were slowly pulling his soul into their ocean depths. He held back the desire to gulp. “I would appreciate very much if you found something.”

He nodded. It was not a difficult task, after all, and it were not as though the books were kept away from the public. He would not be doing anything dangerous by giving her the books. She smiled her strange smile that was too wide.

“I am grateful.” She looked away, focused once again on the birds. He sat there, uncomfortable, for a long minute.

“The boy… can you tell me anything else about him?” A shoulder lifted.

“I have not met him yet, but I know that the voices are loud, persistent, and want him to do harm. I know he is no devil nor demon despite what others may say.” She sent him a sharp look at that. “And that, if he is to get past this, he will need sympathy and patience.”

She was still, reluctant to indulge in more information.

She turned her head, sharply, and stared at him again. There was a visceral pain in her eyes.

“Do not hate him, Dr. Loomis. He is only a child.”

He did not know the child, but he nodded. The girl, whoever she was, felt for the boy and a clarity came to him in that moment. His first conclusion was that she must have been some sort of demon with the way that she unsettled him and pulled at him but thought her too kind for such a thing. She was coming to him with a request to help a sick child, after all. No demon would do something like that. She was something else.

“We shall meet here next week?” She asked, disconnected yet again.

“Of course.” He nodded. The discomfort returned, and he stood up. He needed to get to the library and see if he could gather any information on what the unusual girl could be. Before leaving, he checked his watch to confirm the hour. He was only partly aware of the fact that he had not given her his name.

There was nothing of her on day six. Complete silence, as though she had disappeared entirely. It gave him plenty of time to think, but no answers came to him and he spent most of the time brooding in the library wishing there was more information on the sort of mythical creature the girl could be. He had certainly heard plenty of tales of cryptic creatures, and creatures called changelings noted for their odd behaviour and clever words.

‘A changeling…’ It seemed to match. A child replaced by a fairy child at a young age that looked almost like the original but not quite and did not act or speak like an ordinary child. And yet it felt wrong. A quiet conclusion that there was no way that could be it.

He brooded until he returned to work, and then he had greater things to worry about, but the girl did not entirely leave his mind as he went in pursuit of the sort of manuscript she was after. She was interested in schizophrenia, in treating it, and had shown no interest in anything else. He slipped in some books on psychopathy. He was not of the belief that schizophrenia came alone and made it subtle. He did not know how she would respond to it and kept the stack of books on his desk as a constant reminder. He felt that even after he gave her the books it would not be the end of the conversation. No, she seemed to be the sort that would not let a relationship end there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it would be fun to have some of her cryptid behaviour come out. Barbara certainly has a talent for unsettling!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse through Judith's eyes.

Michael learned better around Barbara. They always had their lessons in the living room, Barbara confessing to her that it was in case he had an episode so that someone else could witness it and be prepared, and always Barbara sat opposite Michael, although Michael would get irritated and end up shuffling next to her after a point.

Judith knew what Barbara meant by ‘episode’ but was surprised that the girl knew about it at all seeing as Michael had been all but the angel his looks suggested he ought to be since she had started coming over a week ago. Perhaps there had been an episode, and no one had seen it because they had been in his room, and that set Judith on edge.

Michael was dangerous. She would be an idiot to neglect four years, almost five, of violent outbursts and cursing. She remembered that once their father considered calling a priest to exorcise Michael, but their mother pushed the thought aside. He was sick, that was all, but then she never called the doctors. Judith was not stupid; she knew that her mother was worried they would lock him away. That was what they did with sick people like him. Locked them away and forgot about them, and as much as she dreaded Michael’s violent outbursts, she did not want him locked away either. He was still a child, even if a dangerous one.

Still, Michael had been behaving disturbingly well since Barbara’s arrival. He clung to her like glue, and when she left he always tried to bargain to get her to stay overnight, and she would always promise to be back the next day, and she always would.

Judith doubted it would last forever. It had been a week, and sooner or later Michael would get bored or Barbara would get impatient. Or perhaps he would get angry first and attack her. It caused Judith to hover in the living room pretending to read as she tuned into their conversations.

“When you are tired and everything is too loud, it is important to let somebody know, clearly, that you need a break. I find that saying I need to use the bathroom is a good way to get out of a troublesome situation.”

“What’s troublesome?”

“Trouble, but to describe a situation.”

“What’s situation?”

“Situation is what is going on around you.” Most of their conversation was Barbara answering Michael’s questions on the words she was using. She spoke like a lecturer, which made Judith giggle when combined with her childish voice, although the girl was trying to cover her young voice by speaking slightly lower. “Hello, Judith.”

“Hey, kiddo.” She could see Barbara raise her brow ever so slightly; her only response to the nickname. “What you two talking about this time?”

“You understand Michael’s rough days well enough, yes?” Judith felt her shoulders tense, her entire body bristling with anticipation despite her attempt to lean casually against the doorframe. “Actually, this might be more useful with you present.”

Judith was uncomfortable being there. She was glad that Michael was doing better, but she felt like she was intruding in some manner when Michael watched her with those too-intense blue eyes that could viciously change from innocent to demonic in an instant. In that moment, they looked tense as Barbara took her arm.

“I am trying to explain to Michael what he should do if he is having an episode in public.” Judith just nodded stiffly, registering the girl half her height. “So, what I suggested, were three firm tugs on the arm. Like so.” She felt the tugs; they were clear as day to her. “And to do this again after counting to twenty if there is no response.”

“Right, that makes sense.” She felt Michael’s creeping stare. “So, uh, what’s next?”

“Then you get him out of that situation. He said sometimes it is difficult to talk, so asking him if he needs something will hardly be useful.” Barbara was quiet for a moment. “The issue is neither of us quite know what helps him calm down.”

“You do.” Michael piped in at long last, and Judith could feel the girl’s grip on her shirt tighten. Just a small amount.

“I cannot be with you everywhere you go, Michael.” He opened his mouth, as though to protest.

“W-well, you always say that it’s too loud…” Judith cut in, hoping to avoid whatever argument was in the boy’s mind immediately. She had the feeling that the conversation was a common one. “So obviously get you somewhere quiet.”

Barbara watched her. The eyes were not like Michael’s and yet there was still a distinct oddness about them that she could not quite grasp until she blinked, and Judith silently realised that one pupil was larger than the other.

“When having episodes, it is important to ground yourself in reality to prevent entering a trance-like state. Stimulation is critical. A weighted blanket, perhaps? Or a toy?” The girl mumbled, frown marring her face that made the frown on Michael’s face deepen further still.

“There’s that toy you gave him. Raggy or something?”

“His name’s Ragnar.” Michael almost snarled, possessive. Judith began to pull away; she did not have the energy to deal with an outburst.

“Would that work?” Barbara turned her attention to Michael, completely unfazed by his outburst. Michael retreated from his almost yell, looking upset, before nodding.

“Maybe.”

“We shall have to give it a shot.”

Conversation drifted from there, though Judith chose to stay around and observe. For the most part, Barbara would just tell stories and Michael would listen. They were not fairy tales, although they were spoken like they were. There were certainly fairies involved, but none of the cute fanciful ones like in Peter Pan. Barbara talked of creatures with teeth and claws that cursed as much as they helped. Every day was another fairy tale.

“Kelpies can come in the form of people or of horses and lurk near deep water. They try to charm to, to get you to follow them, to ride the horse or hold the hand of the person. If you do either, you will stick to them like glue, and you will not be able to break free. The only ones that have escaped before had to cut off what was stuck to them. If you do not escape, then they will drag you into the water and drown you, and then eat you.” Hardly a good story to tell a child already prone to nightmarish visions. “That is why you must be careful near deep water, and never trust strange horses or people you do not know. In those situations, you retreat and look for someone you do know, or a mother with her children.” Barbara grumbled something Judith could not hear.

After each story they would do something Michael wanted to do. Usually he seemed content with what Barbara did, but in that time, it was always games. He built a lot. He was determined to build the tallest tower and then knock it down with vicious enthusiasm. If it was not that, then it was something else that involved making.

He found his fixation another two days later when Barbara showed him how to make paper mache. She did her best to protect the living room, but Michael had no such qualms about making a mess, and Barbara refused to leave until the place was clean which was fine by Michael and had him dropping a few extra bits of glue behind Barbara’s back when he thought no one was looking. It got her to stay another two hours before he was caught and cried his eyes out when he was scolded.

“You would not like if someone kept making a mess when you were tidying up, would you Michael?” He just kept crying, smothered only by awkward hugs and that she would not scold him if he did not do it again.

He did not, but he still made a mess.

Even when Barbara was not there, as rare as that was becoming, he was hooked on paper mache. He would make until night time came when he would, with great reluctance, be put to bed under the promise of being able to do it again the next day, and soon the time for building and making was focused entirely on his new hobby.

Masks were what he enjoyed the most. They were not brilliant, but they were not terrible, and every day he got better and better at making them and then painting them.

There was one that made Judith uncomfortable.

It was, perhaps, his most detailed piece and yet his most crude. It was a human face with pale almost-yellow skin and patchy pale blues around the edges. The eyes were empty, naturally, but the mouth was painted completely black and a long oval, as though the jaw had been broken and was in a constant long wail. He had glued grey knitting wool all across its head.

“What- what’s that one supposed to be?” Judith had dared to ask when she spotted it.

“That’s the old lady.”

“Doesn’t look like an old lady I’ve ever seen.” She was certain she would think it some sort of demon if she ever saw it, feeling a crawling sensation tangling up her neck and along her skull as it sat innocently upon his desk.

“She’s always here.” Was all he had to say. It was the most unsettling thing Michael had ever said to her, and she made her hasty retreat.

Michael had the worst possible imaginary friend.

That night she dreamt of wailing. Long, drawn-out wails that sounded mournful far away that became more manic the closer it got. In the darkness, all she could here was its stretched out cries that transformed into laughter. Vicious, cold laughter that drummed in her ears to almost deafening levels, and then the woman was running at her.

Judith woke with a start, her heart beating angry in her chest.

When she turned on her side, she half expected to see the old lady there, but all she saw was darkness. She would not let herself imagine anything else in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to not rush through Michael's life in this. The remaining chapters should be just from Michael's perspective, hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of child abuse.

He was getting good at waking up early. He did not need to wake up early, he was not going to school yet, but Barbara always came to the house early and he refused to miss a single second without her. He did not know why she was always at the house early, ignoring his older sister’s mumbles, but she was always dressed like she was going to church and was usually already in the kitchen helping his mother as though she had always been there.

Michael fumbled to climb out of pyjamas. He wanted to prove that he could change on his own, finding himself pouting if anyone helped him because Barbara could change on her own; it did not matter that she was an angel. He almost tripped over his trousers, struggling to push buttons through the buttonholes before running down the stairs; his distinct thumping steps giving him away before he could reach the kitchen.

When he reached the kitchen, sharp eyes were immediately in pursuit of the infamous pink dress, finding her by the sink in an instant. He made sure not to run and grab her because she scolded him severely last time, saying that she was holding a knife and they both could have been hurt.

“Barbie!” He announced loudly when he saw her, seeing no immediate reaction as she put a knife in the drying rack. He was not allowed to touch knives, but she could do several things that he could not. Drying her hands, she climbed down from the step and to his level, allowing him immediate cuddling access which he did not hesitate in doing.

“Hello, Mickey.” He beamed at the name; she had started calling him by it only the day before. She had given him a new name and he loved it. “Did you get dressed on your own?”

“Yes.” A vague smile appeared on her face, more genuine than the one that naturally set on her face.

“Let me see.” Was her soft response, gently pressing against his shoulders to push him back and truly look.

It felt as though she were peering into his soul for a moment. Was she looking for the monsters that had become so quiet; waiting to pluck them out with her fingers and eat them whole? She looked down, slowly drifting upwards.

“You got all of your buttons straight.” She said with a nod before focusing her gaze above his eyes. “Bed head.” There was an almost laugh in her voice as she let go of his shoulders, running her hands through his curly hair.

He was paralysed. Everything shut off and all he could think about were her hands brushing through his hair trying to make sense of the soft curls, and he could feel his eyes beginning to close. When she released his hair, the world came back into focus and he blinked away the sleep.

“There. What a handsome head of hair you have.”

Barbara was trying to help him with the monsters. He could see that she would look at lots of books that were filled with words he could not read and see that there were a few pictures of things he could not understand even when she explained them.

She was trying distance.

“There will be times where I am not there to help you, and we have to find out what will help.” She said firmly against his protests. “We will try with the toy, and see how long until you need a break.”

“I’m not sure, Barbara…” Judith was to go with him. They were apparently going to go to the café in the town centre where they would meet up afterwards. It was a long distance, he thought, and he found himself shaking violently at the sheer thought of walking all the way there. The monsters would surely eat him, chase him down and tear him into pieces. They always promised it.

“I will be around, but you shall not see me unless the situation looks like it is going to go downhill. It is important that this is done.” Michael did not see it as particularly important. It worked when she was around, so why could she not just stay? He had not seen her do very magical things when she was away.

She handed him Ragnar, and he clung tightly to the toy with his spare hand. The other held Judith’s hand. Barbara set her hands on his shoulders and with a firm nod said:

“You can do it, Mickey. You are stronger than you think.” He did not believe so, but she was persistent on that, and he did not protest further.

Michael rarely went into the town because it was so loud. It was loud, bright, and smelled strongly of acid. He had only been in twice before and each had ended poorly, and when he looked behind him, he could see that Barbara had already vanished as he and Judith started to walk down the pavement towards the town.

Judith was just as nervous as he was.

“You’re gonna be okay. Barbs thinks you can do it, so you can.” She would say this more than once, and he wondered whether she was talking to him as she said it. He focused on Ragnar in his arm, and on Judith’s hand in his hand. If the monsters attacked, she could pull him away if Barbara were not fast enough.

Ragnar was a fluffy weight. He counted his footsteps as Barbara told him to. He took more steps than Judith who was much taller, and the further into town they went, the more difficult it was to focus on his steps. He could hear voices he had never heard before and he hoped that it was just the people around him. There were cars and buses and bicycles, and when he looked around, he could not see Barbara even though she said that she would be around. He wondered whether she was lying but lying was bad and Barbara was an angel so there was no way she could do that.

“Almost there.” Judith told him, and when he looked up, he could see that the building that Barbara mentioned was incredibly close. He could see its giant glass window and the fancy pink writing on the sign. When he looked behind him, he could no longer see his house. He almost tripped over his feet as they continued to walk towards the building; jolting when they reached the door and there was a loud noise above them as the door opened. “A bell to let the owner know someone is in.”

When they turned the corner to the tables Barbara was already waiting for them, glowing vibrantly in the window light. He could not see her face until he came close and saw a broad smile, almost a grin, on her face.

“You made it.” The smile did not fade. “How do you feel?”

He was quiet. He was glad that she was back and opened his mouth.

“It was hard at the end.”

“Was it difficult to pay attention?” He nodded.

“Too many noises.” He confirmed, shuffling before sitting next to her, Judith sitting opposite them.

“I often find that I do not do well with city environments due to the noises as well. People talk exceptionally loud to be heard above everything else, which is why I prefer to hide in places such as this.”

A lady walked up to them. She was dressed smart and had blonde hair tied into a high ponytail.

“Well if it isn’t our resident mystery. You wanting the usual, Winter?” He was confused. Who was Winter?

“I think I will just have a strawberry milkshake today. I should manage my caffeine until I am older.” The woman laughed at Barbara’s response, and Michael quickly realised that she was Winter.

“I’ll give you a few days at the most. And what about your friends here? Never seen these two before.” Barbara glanced back at them. Judith answered immediately:

“Hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate.” He said afterwards, parroting her because he did not know what they were doing. With a smile that was nice enough, the woman wrote something in a small notebook and walked away.

“I didn’t bring any money.” Judith mumbled after a moment, but Barbara waved her away.

“Worry not, I brought my own purse.”

He was getting confident. Whatever magic Barbara had put in Ragnar was working, and although it was still difficult, he was able to be alone for longer; not that he liked to be alone, he much preferred when Barbara was around. They were able to go to the park for a short while and he finally got to use the swings which made him dizzy and stumble around.

He got to see other children as well and play games with them without the monsters telling him to punch and kick. At least not very loudly.

He was able to have fun, and he was taking advantage of every minute of it.

It was only when he was playing with other children that he realised just how much Barbara stood out. Beyond how bright and glowing she was, she was always very still. She preferred to stay on the edges of the park watching rather than doing anything; rarely spotted picking flowers or on the swings swinging as high as she could. Michael wondered if she was trying to remember how to fly.

The adults whispered about her as well.

“It’s that odd girl again.” They would say, and he would listen to the things they said about her; they were rarely nice and in those moments he lost himself in his anger and she would step in with her vague smile that calmed him but scared the adults.

There were very odd occasions where she would join in the games. They were rare enough that it was a surprise each time, and the other children were often surprised as well, even the older ones.

She never played tag, but she was brilliant at hide and seek. Sometimes the children would get bored of looking for her and decide to go away only just as she appeared; as though she had been there the whole time.

“Are you a ghost?” One asked. Her name was Daisy.

“Ghosts do not breathe.” She would answer in strange ways. Michael knew that it was her way of avoiding the question. She did not make a habit of saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when asked about herself, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was because she was lying in some way.

“Where were you hiding today?” Tom asked, the oldest of the group by five years. Michael knew him to be a bully, picking on the others, but he always left him alone because he would immediately bite him, and always left Barbara alone for reasons Michael did not know. He thought it was perhaps because she scared him, always sneaking up behind him and jabbing at his hips when he was being mean.

“Up a tree.”

“No way, I didn’t see you!” Donald yelled in protest, crossing scrawny arms.

“You do not make a habit of looking up, Donald. None of you do, and that is how I manage to get away from you so easily.” With the vague smile on her face and her hands behind her back, it was difficult to tell but Michael thought she looked rather pleased with herself. “It is alright, adults are the same. They only look from their eyes below when looking for something. Unless they tell themselves to look up.”

“Can’t imagine you climbing a tree, Princess.” Tom grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

For the first time in his life, he heard Barbara laugh.

It was a sudden, loud thing that startled him for it was so distinctly separate from the quiet attitude she gave off.

“Believe it or not, I only dress pretty because it frightens everyone into thinking I am some sort of vampire.” Michael blinked stupidly. “When no one is around I wear a baseball cap and go barefoot into the woods to catch mushrooms.”

“I don’t believe you.” Daisy immediately denied, looking as shell shocked as everyone else, and Michael found himself following the crowd when Barbara waved them over to her innocent pink bag. Unzipping it, she pulled out a red baseball cap and a blue denim jacket, setting the hat on backwards and stuffing her hair underneath.

It was so bizarre it had startled Michael. Then, very suddenly, he felt as though he had seen her figure in such a way before. Multiple times, as a matter of fact, when he thought that she had vanished.

“So, you dress weird because you want to look like a vampire?” Her smile started to dim. Fading to the neutral almost smile that Michael knew not to be a smile at all.

“Ah, no, my parents would be angry if I did not dress proper.”

Michael had still not seen her parents. He was certain that they were not real, and every time that they were brought up Barbara would ask different questions and avoid the topic altogether. Like how his family avoided talking about the monsters.

“Barbara!” She jolted. A sharp rise of the shoulders and widening of the eyes. Michael knew the look well.

Terror.

She removed the hat and stuffed it viciously into her bag with the jacket, cramming it shut and zipping it up as an unfamiliar figure came marching down to the park.

Michael had never seen the older boy before, but saw that he glowed just as brightly as Barbara. However, he did not feel any joy being around him, and the look on his face alone set Michael on edge.

The boy was taller than Tom by two inches, and though he shared the same eyes and hair as Barbara, there was no kindness in them as he snared her arms and pulled her along.

“Dad is annoyed enough as it is, now hurry up and get home before he drags me into it as well.” He grumbled roughly, pushing her out of the park, forcing her to move faster than her legs would let her.

Before Michael could snap and tell the boy he could get stabbed in the eyes, they were out of the park and he was left with a sharp fury he could do nothing with.

“That must’ve been her older brother.” Tom finally said. “Hardly seen him anywhere but the hospital.”

“I didn’t know she had an older brother.” Daisy remarked. “Think the dad beats her like Donny’s dad does?”

“Don’t know. She covers up.”

“Maybe that’s why.”

No angel would hit Barbara like Donald’s father did to him. Only an evil human or a demon would do such a thing. Both could be killed.


End file.
